


Counting... It Can Make You Crazy

by AndromedaCrewe367



Series: Numbered [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Don't Like Don't Read Is The Motto For This Book, Fighting, Gen, Heroes, LittleBitOfPolitics, NewAge, NewHeroes, Violence, cursing, one character is going to go crazy, one character is most likely going to die at the end of this, original - Freeform, originalwork - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28926309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaCrewe367/pseuds/AndromedaCrewe367
Summary: For a while, I've had the ability to see something. That is until I lost it. I never realized how much I relied on this so-called power up until now. You see, it started when I was young: a 3 there, a 5 right over there, and maybe an 8. At first it was weird and creepy, seeing a number glare at you from the top of someone's head. Then over time I was able to develop a mentality to handle it, even enjoy it. I never found out how I gained it. All I know about it is that it led me to trouble, yet it got me out of it at the same time.Presently, I know beginnings like these are a bit cheesy and corny, and you may be expecting me to say something like- "And this is where it all started"-or maybe even- "This is blah blah blah right now, and this is how it all started"- oh maybe even start with- "My name is 'insert here' and this is my story." Fortunately, that's not how I like to do things. Instead, I'll just thrust this sorry excuse of a habit onto you. (As well as some boring events that will eventually lead to something interesting.)
Series: Numbered [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167065





	1. PHASE ONE STATUS: ONGOING...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be depictions of violence. There is also slight cursing and controversial topics. I will add a warning in the notes if any controversial topic is being discussed.

~Even though it might seem like it, this story isn't really about me. No, it's not just about me. How can it? The involvement of my family and friends are too significant. I definitely wouldn't have been able to fill out as many pages without them. Speaking of pages, this large book holds some of the most important decisions I've made: bad and outright disgusting; although, it holds the greatest chapters of my life as well. But to tell you the truth? I can't tell you what this is about or what it's supposed to mean. It may have to do with spoilers. I should leave it up for interpretation; let the public argue for a bit, just to keep things interesting.

Anyhow, for a while, I've had the ability to see something. That is until I lost it. I never realized how much I relied on this so-called power up until now. You see, it started when I was young: a 3 there, a 5 right over there, and maybe an 8. At first it was weird and creepy, seeing a number glare at you from the top of someone's head. Then over time I was able to develop a mentality to handle it, even enjoy it. I never found out how I gained it. All I know about it is that it led me to trouble, yet it got me out of it at the same time.

Presently, I know beginnings like these are a bit cheesy and corny, and you may be expecting me to say something like- "And this is where it all started"-or maybe even- "This is blah blah blah right now, and this is how it all started"- oh maybe even start with- ". Fortunately, that's not how I like to do things. Instead, I'll just thrust this sorry excuse of a habit onto you. (As well as some boring events that will eventually lead to something interesting.)~


	2. Dissociations

\- 10:53 p.m. ~ October 23, 2018 ~ Tuesday -

-What's up, Diary? I know it's been a while since I've written anything down, and I might apologize for it, but to be honest with you I'm better off not writing down my dilemmas. My therapist says it'd be good for me, help me work through my problems and maybe vent a little. I don't believe her. All it does is make everything real. It makes everything concrete. I hate concrete if you didn't know. My reasons? I'm not sharing. I don't like sharing anything: my thoughts, feelings, and even my last name. I blame my "dad" for the last bit. Do I want to get into it? Nope. But here I am, still writing. Writing about everything and nothing at once. Anyways, it was horrible writing in you, I'll see you never? Yeah, that sounds nice.-

Sighing, I toss my notebook onto a pile of dirty laundry along with my pen. I crash onto my bed, curling into my blankets. My eyes are heavy, but I can't seem to close them. Every time I do a burning sensation creeps into every corner my eyelids have to offer when touching. I roll on to my back, rubbing the flecks of crust and crumbs from them. I close my eyes again, this time a wave of relaxation washes over me. I'm falling asleep, however, a loud bang has foiled my plans from a night of playing dead for a few hours.

The apartment above is housed by a scientist. Let's just say what he's doing is called "experimentation". He's either mixing chemicals, testing prototype technology, or doing what the animals do. Pick one or all three because this past week has been torturous enough that I don't give a shit. Well, I do give a shit because it's driving me up a wall, it's just that I haven't had the courage to knock on his door to tell him to quiet down a bit. Hell, I couldn't even tape a note to his door if I tried. I feel like if I do, I'll end up sounding annoying, rude, and possibly like a karen. My parents would usually deal with this type of stuff, but lately they're barely home due to work.

I flip over onto my stomach and shove my pillow on top of my head as another bang shakes my room. Maybe he'll be done soon and maybe I'll get some sleep. It's been rough for me lately, mentally, and sleep hasn't been coming to me all that easy. But tonight I'm somewhat hopeful, plus I have school tomorrow and I don't want to get in trouble for dozing off in class. Thankfully, my body starts to relax once again. Regretfully, as soon as I turn over on my back to look at the emptiness that is my ceiling, a louder bang, more like a boom, shakes my room as if it's a level six earthquake. What follows it are my books crashing to the floor.

I sit up, knowing that it will be a while until Maddy has calmed down for the night. So in the meantime I might as well get some chores done because there is no way in hell I'm going to do them as I'm getting ready for school. Besides, I'm awake anyway, so there's not really a point to laying on my ass and being lazy.

The apartment is as pristine as polished dirt. And if you've never seen a polished ball of dirt, you're missing out. Because sure, when we first moved into the apartment it looked like trash, but as money started to roll in we were able to practically paint the place in gold. The reason for that was my dad's big promotion, and with it came money and an even greater amount of negligence. I don't really resent him for it, besides there are plenty of other reasons on that list.

My body shakes like my walls had done earlier as I walk through the living room. I switch on the light rather than feeling for the thermostat, and I turn up the temperature from sixty-five degrees to seventy-two. There is no reason that it should be that cold. It feels as though my toes are going to snap off and become frozen tater-tots.

I walk into the kitchen and start unloading the dishwasher. There isn't much considering I ate dinner by myself these past couple of days. It may seem sad, but after a while, I've come to enjoy not just the peace that comes with it. There's no pressure talking about your day, you don't have to worry about manners and proper etiquette, don't have to worry about excusing yourself from the table, and definitely not being asked question after question if the food is good or not. Instead, I make my own meals, put my elbows on the table, wipe my mouth with my sleeve instead of a napkin, and can leave whenever I want. There's no trying your hardest to pretend to be a part of a social norm. There's just you. There's no standard.


	3. Executions

Nearly dropping a plate, a rather loud boom bounces off the walls. I look at the time on the microwave and find that it's on the edge of midnight. Right now, my only hope is that he passes out from a caffeine crash before the sun comes up. Unfortunately, and knowing how the universe loves to fuck with me and my luck, he won't stop until tomorrow night.

Mentally groaning, I put away the last of the plates, which then concludes the putting away of dishes. I turn and start to leave the kitchen when, what would be considered an explosion, knocks me to the ground. The ceiling is caving in and a fire is spreading fast. In my panicked state, I run for the front door to escape this crumbling building. Fortunately, I remember Pancake, my deaf puppy. She must still be sleeping in my parent's room.

I turn to go back and grab her when I'm stopped by a plume of smoke and a chunk of ceiling falling in front of me. My skin feels as though it's melting, my eyes are burning from the billowing smoke, and my lungs are desperately trying to breathe in any fresh air that's left. Another large chunk of the building falls, this one causes me to run to the entrance of the hallway.

I barely make it to the door of my parents' room where Pancake is residing. I grab the doorknob only to find out that it's hotter than lava. I scream in pain and hold my hand closely to me. I'm sure there are at least first degree burns covering the entirety of it. I look around the hallway, trying to see if there is some way of me opening this door without destroying the nerve-endings in my hands. There isn't a single thing left in the compacted hallway for me to use. I wipe my eyes of the tears that are forming.

Think. Come on... Think! I fall back down to my knees, my throat closing in on itself, causing me to cough and just about choke on the polluted air. I bring my arms close to my chest, clutching my shirt. My shirt...

I yank it off as fast as I can without causing further injury to my burned hand. I wrap it around the other one using my mouth to help. When done, I stand up and reach for the knob again. This time I'm more hesitant. I don't want to roast my other hand. I grab the knob and turn it, as I do so I can feel the heat seeping through the shirt. I shove the door open and look around the room frantically, trying to see through the polluted veil.

There are bits and chunks of ceiling all over the master bedroom, fire has engulfed the king sized bed as well as the curtains and vanity. She has to be around here somewhere. I maneuver my way to the bed by climbing over the fallen ceiling, but I never make it.

The rest of this floor's roof has crumbled. It has never hurt so much to breathe. My eyes have never felt heavier. I can barely move, and the parts of my body that can twitch, I realize I'm stuck. I'm trapped. I let out a blood curdling scream that ends with my chest and lungs burning in pain. I can't do anything. I couldn't save Pancake, let alone myself for that matter.

More weight is being added on to my shoulders from guilt. Tears stream down the sides of my face as everything starts to go black. Time feels as though it's slowing down, a punishment for not saving Pancake.

All I remember is blacking out, and then a ringing in my ears. It doesn't feel like Hell, and I doubt it's Heaven, so where am I? For one thing, I'm moving, and my mind is as cloudy as the smoke that clogged my lungs to think of anything. Second thing, there's a bright light trying to shine it's way behind my eyelids. Third thing that's happening, my hearing is coming back to me slowly, and I can start to make out voices that seem to surround my mind. Even if they are talking to me, I doubt I could move my mouth to say answer them. Besides, I'm pretty sure if I could speak, I wouldn't be able to answer them. Their voices are too muffled and loud for me to comprehend. With two loud slams, and something being shoved into my arm, I fall asleep.

I'm alive. I can't believe it! The aroma of the universal smell that a hospital provides is all too familiar. My hearing is no longer ringing, instead there is a high pitched beeping that can only be used to indicate my heart rate. I attempt to move my arms and legs, even a small twitch will do. Smiling mentally, my toes and tips of my fingers move ever so slightly. Next are my eyes that will be attempted to be open. I can feel my eyeballs move under my eyelids, but they're so heavy I doubt I'd be able to open them so soon. I relax my body and concentrate, and ever so slowly the light begins to blind me bit by bit. Eventually, my vision had adjusted and I am now able to get a full bearing of my surroundings. My next step is to try to sit up, which of course turns out to be painful.

A minute later a doctor walks in, a quite attractive one as well as cute. However, I'm not too worried about it, what worries me is that there is a number sitting at the top of his head. As he walks around the room to adjust anything that needs to be adjusted, his number faces me the entire time. It looks to be glaring at me.

For the next few minutes the doctor, who's name in which I forgot, went over all of my injuries. But I couldn't focus, the only thing that I could focus on was the number floating on his head.


End file.
